Scarlet on the Walls
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: He's had a specific aversion to the colour scarlet ever since that night. Jane dealing with tragedy and his private breakdown. Drabble.


**Scarlet on the Walls**

**Patrick Jane**

**The Mentalist-no specific season, no slash or pairing.**

**Drabble**

He's had a specific aversion to the colour scarlet ever since that night. Maybe it's the grinning face on the wall that's inspired it, or perhaps the blood. Or them. But he's never had any problems with blood before, and smiley faces set him on edge to begin with, so then again it's most likely them.

It was her favourite colour. Angela's. She loved a brilliant, deep hue of burgundy, or tomato soup. He can still remember one particular sweater, one that was given at Christmas and worn out by Valentine's Day from use, of a soft sanguine cashmere. She wore it around the house casually, with a pair of silky pajama pants, or out on autumn walks. He'd come home early to find her gone, then wait for an hour or so for her to come in from the wind. Her hair would wild with the season, blooming cheeks, and perhaps a leaf or two stuck to the gentle fibers of the garment, as if she had been jump in piles of them just for kicks. Charlotte would be in her arms, beaming and excited to see her father.

Times like that, he was never more in love with her.

It's this tremendous dislike of a mere colour that sets him on edge when entering any sort of establishment with red walls. He might being to feel wary, nervous, or even dizzy. The others, Rigby, Lisbon, and Van Pelt never catch it. Cho, however, usually does right off the bad. He can sense it in Jane's posture and general air. Picking up on the details, it's what makes him such a brilliant interrogator.

To his great surprise, Cho almost goes out of his way on these occasions to but Jane at ease. It is nothing much-he merely stays close, quiet, and calm. Which is enough; Kimball Cho has always had a remarkable sense of power that can manipulate the moods of entire rooms. Aura or persuasion, either or, he's got it and it works. Jane remains reasonably comfortable with the other man's thoughtful charity.

Sometimes, he wonders if they blamed him in their deaths. If little Charlotte knew it was his cause that ultimately killed her. If Angela had perhaps wished, in her final moments, that they'd never met at all.

On the anniversary, he makes the executive decision. The walls of his study, which have long been a patterned French Blue, must now be painted. They're dull now, with time and his eyes. He needs something new. So, they must be painted. Painted a brilliant shade of wine-red. Sharp and vibrant and bright. Everything Angie would've loved. He does it himself, with a plastic roller and everything, dressed in a stained t-shirt and jeans. Nobody ever sees him in jeans, anymore.

The job takes three days. He uses several rolls of blue tape to line the molding of his built-in walnut bookcases. After realizing newspaper won't do much in preventing carpet stains he is forced to drive back to the hardware store to fetch tarps. While there he spots Van Pelt, who seems surprised to see him. Her shock becomes even more evident when she points out the denim. Breezily, he brushes it off. In passing Jane mentions his latest home project. Interestedly, Van Pelt offers her services.

"My mom did a lot of remodeling when I was a kid," She explains. "I learned to do a lot with a brush."

He raises his eye brows at this last bit, then begs off with a _"Thank you, Grace, but I'd rather try my hand at it. Perhaps next month—I'm tackling the kitchen for a retiling?"_

Van Pelt accepts this easily. They part ways.

Jane returns to an empty house. Two days pass, and he makes his final coat. The walls gleam satin. He's proud of his work-the carpet is only stained in four places, the wood hasn't been touched at all, and he didn't have to hire anyone. Patrick can't remember the last time he did a DIY project. He doesn't even know if he has ever accomplish one in this house without having given up out of frustration and hiring an expert.

Overall, the process proves to be less painful than he had imagined. The colour still brings back a flush of hurt, but not as it had before. Angie might've been proud.

**This is part of my attempt to dip into as many fandoms as possible before 2012. I've never read Mentalist fiction before, so I'm not sure how many of you there are out there, but I hope you've enjoyed my little drabble. Please review! **


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